ng the alkali from him with a huge
sombrero. Then he straightened up and sniffed: "What's burnin'?" he
asked, simulating alarm. Then he noticed the cigar between the teeth of
his foreman and grinned: "Gee, but yore a brave man, Buck."

"Hullo, Hopalong," said the foreman. "Want a smoke?" Waving his hand
toward the box on the bar.

Mr. Hopalong Cassidy side-stepped and began to roll a cigarette: "Shore,
but I'll burn my own--I know what it is."

"What was yu doin' to my cayuse afore yu come in?" Asked Buck.

"Nothin'," replied the newcomer. "That was mine what I kicked in th'
corrugations."

"How is it yore ridin' the calico?" Asked the foreman. "I thought yu was
dead stuck on that piebald."

"That piebald's a goat; he's beein livin' off my pants lately,"
responded Hopalong. "Every time I looks th' other way he ambles over and
takes a bite at me. Yu just wait 'til this rustler business is roped,
an' branded, an' yu'll see me eddicate that blessed scrapheap into
eatin' grass again." He swiped Billy's shirt th' other day--took it right
off th' corral wall, where Billy's left it to dry. Then, seeing Buck
raise his eyebrows, he explained: "Shore, he washed it again. That makes
three times since last fall."

The proprietor laughed and pushed out the ever-ready bottle, but
Hopalong shoved it aside and told the reason: "Ever since I was up to K.
C. I've been spoiled. I'm drinkin' water an' slush."

"For Pete's sake, has any more of yu fellers been up to K. C.?" queried
the proprietor in alarm.

"Shore: Red an' Billy was up there, too." responded Hopalong. "Red's got
a few remarks to shout to yu about yore pain-killer. Yu better send for
some decent stuff afore he comes to town," he warned.

Buck swung away from the bar and looked at his dead cigar. Then he
turned to Hopalong. "What did you find?" He asked.

"Same old story: nice wide trail up to th' Staked Plain--then nothin'."

"It shore beats me," soliloquized the foreman. "It shore beats me."

"Think it was Tamale Jose's old gang?" Asked Hopalong.

"If it was they took th' wrong trail home--that ain't th' way to Mexico."

Hopalong tossed aside his half-smoked cigarette. "Well, come on home;
what's th' use stewin' over it? It'll come out all O.K. in th' wash."
Then he laughed: "There won't be no piebald waitin' for it."

Evading Buck's playful blow he led the way to the door, and soon
they were a cloud of dust on the plain. The proprietor, despairing of
cus